Keep Moving

It’s a chilly late morning in Lorne, and the wind off the Pacific’s turning my ears an unflattering pink as I shuffle along the beach, rough mixes of new tunes rattling through poorly fitting ear buds. I’m grateful to be here - a morning constitutional punctuated by cockatoo squawks can never be a bad thing - but I’m presently overwhelmed by the possibility that not many people will hear this music.

I don’t know that, of course - the tunes aren’t even out - and it’s all part of the conditioning I’m trying to break myself out of, the assumption generally introverted, loner types know too well, that ours is a solitary path.

Am I angry as I’m writing this? Maybe a little, but not in the lingering way that poisons dreams. Thankfully, it’s something different, nourishing even, a resolution punctuated by the biting wind - the only way through’s to grit your teeth and keep moving.